Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

right. There was a dull
clunk.
The drawer slid open a hair. I forced myself to remain still and count to twenty.
    Lockton’s snores continued above, regular as waves crashing against the side of a ship.
    I pulled open the drawer and peered inside. It was crowded with abandoned quills, a rusty tinder box, and a few coins and pound notes, which I was sore tempted to take. I felt through the drawer with careful fingers. What had he done with the list? Was it in his coat pocket? I reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out a black hair ribbon. Had he given it to Goldbuttons for safekeeping?
    There!
    From the farthest reach of the drawer I pulled out a single sheet, folded once. I held it up to the light and quickly read; it was a list of names, with the mayor’s at the bottom. He had titled it “Committee to Preserve the King’s Peace.”
    I tucked the paper in my pocket, tied it tight, and slipped it under the waistband of my skirt where it could not be seen. I closed and relocked the drawer, then carefully returned the keys to their hiding place.
    I tiptoed back through the house and slipped outside, quiet as a ghost.
    The air was hot and dripping, as if the city were wrapped in a wool blanket just pulled from a boiling pot. I made my way along the streets seen only by cats, rats, and a slave hurrying by with a bundle on her head. Since she carried a lantern, and no doubt had a pass from her master, she was allowed to be out walking after dark.
    I was not.
    The woman said nothing as she passed by me but started singing the second verse of “Yankee Doodle” in a strong voice, which I thought curious indeed.
    I listened close to the words.
“Father and I went down to camp, Along with Captain Gooding; And there we saw the men and boys, As thick as hasty pudding….”
    She was sending me a message.
    I dove behind a log barricade just as two soldiers turned the corner, talking intently to each other and sweeping the street with their eyes. I said a quick prayer of thanks to the singing woman for her help.
    When the echoes of the soldiers’ boots had vanished, I moved on, staying away from the lights of the sentry fires, passing under the dark shadow of King George’s statue in the Bowling Green, and hurrying to my destination.
    *   *   *
    The Battery was the fort at the southern tip of the island, with high walls and cannons that pointed over the water to discourage enemies. It was headquarters of the Patriot army in New York. Even if General Washington was elsewhere, here I could find an officer who would understand the value of the list.
    I marched past the rows of tents set up on the grounds outside of the fort, trying very hard to ignore the men and boys who stared as I walked by. As I neared the gate, a sentry stepped out and blocked my way. “Do you have a pass, girl?”
    I swallowed hard and tried to remember the name of the colonel who worked with Master Bellingham.
Fagen, Jaden, McReadan …
    â€œWell?” A few other soldiers drinking coffee outside of their tents had stopped talking to observe.
    â€œPlease, sir,” I said, polite and firm. “I’ve come with an urgent message for …”
Regan!
“For Colonel Regan, sir.”
    â€œTell me, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
    â€œI cannot,” I said. “I must deliver it to him personally, sir.”
    â€œWho’s your master?”
    Telling a lie would not benefit me. “A Loyalist, sir, who would beat me bloody if he knew I was here.”
    He looked me over and yawned. “Come on, then. I could do with a walk to keep me awake.”
    I followed him inside, past a room of men sleeping on the floor, along a hall to a small room where a low fire smoldered in the hearth, a chair drawn up before it. The moonlight had broke free of the clouds again and lay in gray pools beneath the windows. A table stood by the door, where a heavy-set man